


See You In The Morning

by GaHoolianGirl



Series: A Warden and his Assassin [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Goodbyes, I sounds sadder than it is in my opinion, M/M, Seperation, They're not breaking up I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overall, Zevran felt it was impossibly endearing.</p><p>It made him most sad to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 3:30 a.m but I fell in love with the idea. Eh.
> 
> Edit: So like, this is several months after the Blight, fyi. I am just saying this so my newest fics can fit into this timeline.

Waking up with a warm body next to you was a feeling that Zevran was still getting used to. Most of the sexual encounters he remembers either ended in coins changing hands or a knife slitting someone’s throat. Never much chance to really snuggle in the morning. The closest he had come was with Rinna and Taliesen, but, almost as an omen of the future, in the mornings they woke up spread across the bed (or ground depending on the day), none of them touching.

When he started awake one chilly Ferelden dawn, he was still surprised to feel that warmth, even if he knew exactly who it was. Gideon’s face was peaceful, serene even. He was a gruff man, with a strong jaw and rough, dark stubble. In a move that Zevran would have never done in the past, he reached out and caressed his lover’s jaw, ghosting his fingers over his face and reveling in his nose twitching. The noble grumbled in his sleep, something along the lines of “Nan, no more porridge please...”

Overall, Zevran felt it was impossibly endearing.

It made him most sad to leave.

They had terms for this brief stay in Denerim’s castle. They would stay indefinitely, until one of them left in the morning. No words, no notes explaining themselves, just a quiet, simple departure, to save them from any of the forlornness that goodbyes brought. It was a tense dance they played, enjoying each day like it would be their last together for some while. Weeks ago, Gideon received word from Weisshaupt that he was the be Ferelden’s Warden Commander, and was to report to Amaranthine as soon as possible.

Knowing his lover, the Antivan knew the man would not leave first. After entering this relationship, Zevran found himself with a strange respect for responsibility and duty and the like, and knew that Gideon already valued those highly. He would not be the thing to hinder his lover from what was already his passion.

Making slow, quiet movements, he shimmied out from underneath the sheets, and then from the bed. He had hidden his departure pack in a bit of loose stone in the far corner of the room. Gideon most likely knew something was in there; but he did not attempt to discover what. Zevran decided that he would leave all of his other belongings with his lover, an unspoken assurance of _I will see you again._

He quickly rifled through the sack, doing a mental run through of all the supplies he would need to get to the docks, hire a ship to Antiva, to arrive in Antiva, find a safehouse in Antiva...

As he went through these items, he came across one of his most prized possessions; a pair of Dalish gloves. They were not the ones given to him by his mother, nor were they purchased out of fascination with the Dalish. They were a gift from the man snoozing away in the bed and that made them far more valuable.

He stared at them for a long hard moment, debating whether or not he should take him. His old life gnawed away at his insecurities. _Sentiment was what got them taken away the first time. Leave them, leave him behind_. His insecurities of another nature were found deep in his heart and mind. _If you do not take them, he will think they mean nothing to you; that he means nothing_.

He held one in each hand, and tested their weight. He bit his lip, and the carefully placed one upon the dresser, and the other back into his pack. An promise, a connecting thread between them, more tangible than words. Those gloves meant more to him than any other item he had ever owned, far outshining the hand-me-downs from the mother he never knew. They were more than an assurance; they were a vow.

He dressed quickly, into dark, lightweight clothes. Used to escaping castles while trying not to wake sleeping nobles (though generally they were his mark’s husband or wife), he did this in relative silence.

As he grabbed a length of rope to climb down the window, he heard a low, tender whimper, coming from the foot of the bed. In his haste he had forgotten about Jak, Gideon’s faithful mabari. The hound had all but imprinted on him as well, the only person he wouldn’t maul for the elf his master. He tiptoed over to the dog, and lovingly scratched behind its ears.

“You’ll protect him won't you?” he said in a low whisper, confident the dog, skilled in all things, including hearing, would hear, “Though he doesn’t need protection so much as companionship, eh?”

He pat Jak's nose and out a finger to his lips, indicating _shhhh_. The only sign the mabari gave that it understood was it’s silence, which was good enough for the assassin. He gave the dog’s head on last pat. “Good boy.”

He edged towards the window, before stopping, and making a judgement which would have gotten him killed amongst the Crows. He moved back to the bed, and looked down at the sleeping Warden. He leaned down, and placed the lightest of kisses upon his forehead, a tender, loving movement, one unseen by the one it was directed to.

He moved back to the window, and secured the rope by hook. He slipped down it, gloves mitigating the noise. His feet hit the cobbled ground with a soft thud, and he looked back up at the window. With a forward tug, the rope came whooshing down and he repackaged it.

He glanced only one more time upon the Warden’s window, blowing it a silent, forlorn kiss, and was gone.

Inside the room, there was a smile.•

**Author's Note:**

> If I don't like the writing I may rewrite it in the future, as I like some of the ideas.


End file.
